


Muggle-Born Registration Commission: Hogwarts Acceptance

by MoonSilverSprite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Bigotry & Prejudice, Cruciatus, Dementors, Fugitives, Genocide, Hostile, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Muggle Life, Psychological Torture, Refugees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:48:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonSilverSprite/pseuds/MoonSilverSprite
Summary: At this moment, excited 11-year-olds would be poring over stacks of newly purchased spell-books, unaware that they would never see Hogwarts, perhaps never see their families again either.Some Muggle-borns were due to start at Hogwarts in 1997. None of them made it. Some had to go into hiding, some had to flee the country, some had their memories modified and some went to Azkaban.These are their stories.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The muggle-born children that were supposed to go to Hogwarts in 1997 is mostly glossed over in fanfiction. I had been working on this story a while back and decided to put the first chapter up.
> 
> While the child characters may seem a little under-developed at the moment, they will not remain this way.
> 
> My sister has already written two Harry Potter stories on FanFiction.net, but this can be read independently from hers.

**27th August 1997**

McGonagall sighed as she sat at her desk, placing her head in her hands.

Muggleborns were banned from Hogwarts. A despicable horror that she never would have thought possible. Even in the darkest days of history, muggleborn children had been allowed, if sometimes treated with fear and discontent.

But the student population would decrease readily enough. The muggle-borns did not make up the _largest_ group; that much was true. But there would be a definite decrease.

Her mind flickered to the many students who would not return this year. Justin Finch-Fletchley. A shame, since his O.W.L grades had been rather good. Colin Creevey and Dennis Creevey, so much bigger than the stick-like things they had once been.

Hermione Granger…

McGonagall clenched her fists as she rested them on her desk. She had to do something rather than just sitting here and letting children be dragged off to Azkaban – or worse.

Then she thought about something. The registry of all witches and wizards could be found in the Book of Admittance. This would include all the muggle-borns who would be old enough to attend this year.

 _Well,_ McGonagall told herself as she stood up and left the room, _if I can’t save this year’s students, I will save future ones._

When the Book of Admittance was checked on 1st September by Headmaster Snape, he found that some of the names in the previous eleven years had been masked, now invisible to the naked eye. Several minutes of tedious spellwork later and with the names still remaining invisible, he groaned to himself and slammed it shut.

No need to bother anyone with this information. If it meant less fuss over finding muggle-born children, so be it.

**1st September 1997**

Eleven children sat on the bench on Platform 9 ¾, where they had been told to sit if they did not have any magical experience, according to the letters that had been sent to them.

There were six boys and five girls of all shapes and sizes. One was rather tall and strapping for his age, looking closer to fourteen than eleven. One was quite small and had a sniffle and looked almost as thin as a broomstick. One girl had her bootlaces trailing on the floor and one of the boys looked as if he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. They were mainly white, but one girl was black and another was Chinese.

They were all muggle-born.

They were all about to be interrogated.

The Ministry employees that were to pick them up had their names on some parchment, along with some photographs. One of them, a skinny man with beady eyes and long fingers, wearing a long black robe with a nametag, snarled at the parchment in his hands.

“They only have Muggle photos,” he slapped the piece of parchment as the accompanying witch glanced over, “and they think they’re meant for our world?”

The witch, a squat woman with a second chin, also wearing black robes, nodded as they turned the corner and looked directly at the children sitting on the bench.

She coughed, letting it echo around the platform, causing the children to jump. They looked around for a second, before all of them clapped eyes on the witch and wizard that had come to collect them. One or two of the children giggled at their stupidity.

Of course, they thought, they shouldn’t be afraid.

But they should have been.

The wizard read out the names on the parchment.

“Flora Adams?”

“Here,” a small girl with brown hair sat up and walked over to them, dragging her suitcase behind her. The wizard looked down at her as if she were something disgusting on the bottom of his shoe.

“Monica Church?”

“Here,” a tall girl with mousy brown hair pulled back into a ponytail got up and followed Flora.

“Marcus Dawes?” The witch called out, knowing that if her companion read out any more names then he might break character out of horror.

A freckle-faced boy got off of the bench.

“Jessie Edwards? Ava MacDougall? Kelly Millward?” Three more children got up from the bench and stood by them.

The wizard took over again, trying to concentrate instead on the pain they knew Umbridge would inflict on the children. If these were indeed Mudbloods, then sending them to the Dementors would be wonderful.

“Bianca Osborne? John Peterson?”

A girl and the scruffy boy came over.

“Finn Pearson? Zachary Small-Bone? Lucy Zhang?”

“Here.”

“Here.”

“Here.”

As Lucy Zhang completed the row, the wizard rolled the parchment up and folded his hands. The witch spoke – she knew how to work with children, even Muggles like these.

“Hello children. I am Penny Merryweather. I would like to welcome all of you to the world of witchcraft and wizardry. Now, before we go, does anyone have any questions?”

John put his hand up. “Yes, Peterson?” the witch asked.

“Does it make any difference,” he raised his voice so that they could hear him, “if we were born in the magic world or not? I mean, we don’t know much ‘bout magic, so what do we do?”

The witch forced herself to smile. “Everything will be revealed shortly.”

“But that doesn’t explain anything.” Bianca pointed out, but the two Ministry employees had already turned around and had walked through some doors leading out of the platform.

Almost instantly, the children heard voices from all sides shouting. The group wildly peered around, before they started screaming.

The screams were cut short by the voices shouting out the same curse.

“Stupefy!”

 

The children were all hit, some more than once. Their vision slightly blurred and they could do nothing but watch as stretchers were conjured up and they were chained to them. The witch and wizard smirked. Now the children would be exposed for the thieves that they were.

The trial started quickly. The Stunned children were all placed outside the courtroom, as the Dementors prowled the corridor. All eleven children were squeezed in beside grown adults, some of whom were weeping. Combined with the darkness, the homesickness and the utter confusion, none of the eleven-year-olds were in the least bit comfortable.

Flora Adams was first, simply because she was closest to the door. Once she was dragged inside, she started pleading.

“Get off me! What do you want? Why aren’t I going to Hogwarts?”

“You’re not going to Hogwarts,” Umbridge called from her seat, as Flora was hastily fastened to the chair, “because we need to determine if you have stolen magic.”

Umbridge sat back in her chair and looked through the questionnaire that the children had been told to fill out while they were waiting. “Now,” she peered up at the terrified girl, “your name is Flora Adams?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Flora trembled.

Umbridge ignored the girl’s fear. “Daughter of Pamela and Jerome Adams?”

“Yes. I want –“

“Parents’ profession: gardeners?”

“Yes, ma’am. Let me go. The letter I received said I was a witch, why are you asking me these questions? And what are those scary cloaked things?”

Umbridge groaned to herself. Children were annoying, but crying, Muggle children were unbearable.

“A wand was taken from you when you arrived,” Umbridge held it up, “hazel, ten inches, unicorn hair?”

“Yes,” Flora swallowed, “it was given to me in the post with my letter.”

Umbridge raised an eyebrow. This had been part of the test; to see if the Muggles would be tempted to use them. The individual wands had been specially selected by Ministry officials who had looted Ollivander’s. It was time to see if the test had worked.

“You see,” Umbridge twirled the tip of the wand in her fingers, as if conducting an orchestra, “the wands chose the witch or wizard. You are not a witch.”

“Then why did I get my letter?” Flora found the courage to shout.

Yaxley snapped across the room, “Stay quiet or I will send you to the Dementors, girl!”

Flora didn’t know what Dementors were, but they sounded terrifying. So she kept her mouth shut.

“Can you name the witch or wizard you stole the wand from?” Umbridge reeled off.

Flora shook her head, determined despite her fear. “It was sent to me in the post. It came with my acceptance letter that said I was to go to the magic school. I don’t want to be a witch any more. I want to go home.”

Umbridge sighed. “Now, Flora,” she tried using her sickly-sweet voice, “you’re a good girl. Surely you can tell the difference between a truth and a lie?”

Flora nodded, frantic.

“I ask again; can you name the witch or wizard you stole this wand from?”

Flora knew that telling the truth wasn’t going anywhere. If this horrid woman said that she was lying, then Flora would lie.

“It appeared in my post,” she tried, “but the letter was not addressed to me. I took the wand to my room because I thought it looked pretty. But I have never used it.”

That part was true. Flora had been too afraid of what could happen to try and attempt any magic. Although being magic would explain why she had been able to jump onto the school roof or why her chess set had turned purple once.

Umbridge was taken aback. She had not expected this. The girl must be lying.

“Very well,” Umbridge closed the file, “try to perform a spell.”

If the Mudblood was able to cast a spell, they would send her to Azkaban. If she couldn’t and she was simply a Muggle, then they would snap the wand, send her home and Obliviate her. After they had performed the Cruciartus Curse on her, of course.

After the chains were undone, Flora held the wand in her shaking hands as Yaxley placed a pear on the floor in front of her.

“Turn it into a melon.” He told her, sneering.

Flora held the wand outright, but even as she did so, she begged it not to do anything. Holding everything in, she felt as if her insides were putty. Flora willed the wand not to cast any magic. Who knew what would happen if she did?

When nothing happened, Flora quickly placed the wand on the arm of the chair and looked up at Umbridge, gripping the corners of her skirt as she did.

“I can’t perform any magic. I am not a witch. I’m sorry I opened post that had not been for me.”

Umbridge did not know what she should do. The girl’s name had been on the list for Hogwarts, which must have meant that somehow the girl had stolen magic. The girl had answered the questions.

According to the rule, a Muggle who had stolen magic – a Mudblood – could only go to Azkaban if certain procedures took place. None of the outcomes listed what she should do if a wand did not perform. Of course, Umbridge did not care about that so much - she would sentence Mudbloods however she pleased, but she did have to obey the laws of the Ministry and that was something Umbridge prided herself on.

“Flora Adams,” she spoke at last, “you are found innocent of stealing magic. But before you go home, you need to undergo one more thing.”

Flora was ushered into the next room, where half a dozen wizards called out in joy. Almost immediately, Flora screamed as she was lifted ten feet into the air and forced to perform somersaults, spin around and dance like a marionette.

The next three children’s cases went by with identical results.

Ava MacDougall had answered every question tearfully. When she had held the wand out (cherry, twelve and a quarter inches, dragon heartstring), she had done exactly the same as Flora. Too afraid of what would happen if the judges found her ‘guilty’, she had faked not being able to perform.

But she was taken into the next room anyway and given the same treatment as Flora.

Finn Pearson had been a very bad boy, swearing and kicking and refusing to answer questions, before Yaxley had told him to behave or he would have his soul sucked out.

Finn Pearson had stayed quiet, refusing to play around.

He was given the wand (ash, eleven and three quarter inches, unicorn hair) and given the same instruction.

Finn knew that he had been practising with his wand at home and had managed to make the entire cutlery set lie on the table, much to his parents’ delight. But this time, he hummed the first tune that came to mind – the Wombles – and didn’t think of a spell at all.

Thrown to the torturers, the next child was Jessie Edwards.

A stubborn child, she denied all of the questions, answering none. When Umbridge said that they might have to torture her, Jessie opened up.

Again, nothing happened with the apple.

Umbridge was getting fed up of this. Surely one of the children had stolen magic?

When Bianca Osborne was dragged inside, Umbridge asked the same questions as she had asked the others.

“You are Bianca Osborne?”

“Yes.” Bianca answered sternly. Growing up in possibly the worst part of Birmingham, this girl could be tough when she needed.

“Daughter of Isabel and Ralph Osborne?”

“Yes.” Bianca snapped, her ponytail flying in front of her face as she squirmed in her seat.

“There is no need to be rude, girl,” Umbridge snapped back even louder, “parents’ occupation: cook and cleaner.”

“Yes.” Bianca spoke more softly this time, but still harsh enough to let Umbridge know that the girl wouldn’t give up easily.

Umbridge then asked, “Now, Bianca, you’re a smart girl. Surely you can tell the difference between a truth and a lie?”

Bianca nodded.

Umbridge held the wand high. “Do you recognise this wand?”

“Yes.”

“Dogwood, thirteen inches, unicorn hair?”

“Yes.”

“Now then,” Umbridge asked in her sickly-sweet voice, “can you tell me the name of the witch or wizard you stole this wand from?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Bianca replied angrily, “It was given to me in the post.”

“The wand chooses the witch or wizard, Miss Osborne. You are not a witch –“

“Then how come I got a wand in the post, then?” Bianca spat at her, cockily, "It doesn't make any bloody sense if it's not for me, but it had my name on."

Yaxley held his wand up to threaten her, but Umbridge instead pleasantly said to Bianca, “There could have been a mistake.”

Bianca gave a small laugh, despite the circumstances. “It was in the post and I was told that I was going to a magic school. It was my name on the letter. It had my address. There wasn’t a mistake.”

Umbridge lay back in her chair. She was enjoying this.

“Fine,” she placed the wand in front of her, “perform a spell. Turn this apple into a melon.”

As soon as Bianca snatched the wand from Yaxley, she held it at the apple and said loudly and with confidence, the spell. The apple turned into a huge, ripe mango. As Yaxley picked it up and Bianca started smirking, hoping that this proved that she was not a fake, Umbridge passed sentence.

“Very well. Bianca Osborne, you are found guilty of stealing magic –“ Bianca started protesting loudly, causing Umbridge to then shout over her, “and will be taken from here to Azkaban, where you will spend a minimum of six months.”

As Bianca was taken away by bailiffs, screaming the whole time, Umbridge ticked the name off. The screaming only ceased when the bailiffs Apparated.

The next child on her list was Zachary Small-Bone. He was as stubborn as the others, but when given a wand, he did not perform magic. He had suspected this was a trick. He just wanted to go home, if the magic world was as horrid as this.

The child after him, as well as after four grown Mudbloods, was Kelly Millward.

“Kelly Ann Millward?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kelly shook in her seat.

“Daughter of Emily and Mark Millward? Sister of David Millward?”

“Yes, ma’am. Please, I just want to go –“

Umbridge put her hand up for silence. She held the wand up in her fingers and twirled it. “Do you recognise this wand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kelly nodded, pushing her feet inward on the stone floor, even though she could only just about reach.

“Chestnut, twelve inches, dragon heartstring?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kelly answered, licking her lips without meaning to.

“Can you tell me the name of the witch or wizard you stole this wand from?”

Umbridge asked her.

Kelly was taken aback. Maybe, she thought, if I say I stole the wand, they might let me go.

“I don’t know, ma’am. It was on the pavement near my house. I haven’t shown anyone else the wand, promise.”

Umbridge smiled. Another liar. Would children ever learn? This girl wasn't a witch any more than Umbridge's dress was green.

“Can you perform magic with this wand?”

Kelly shook her head.

“Well, we shall try anyway. Turn the apple into a melon.” The apple, which had been Transfigured back, was placed on the floor in front of Kelly.

“I don’t know what to do, ma’am.” Kelly shook her head, her pigtails flying.

Umbridge frowned. “Very well. Kelly Millward, you are found guilty of stealing magical property. You are therefore sentenced to a minimum of six months in Azkaban.”

“Wait! I’ll give it back; I promise!” Kelly shouted as the bailiffs came to take her. As they dragged her away, she screamed, “I’m begging you, ma’am! I won’t do any magic! I want to go home!”

Flora Adams and Ava MacDougall had had their memories modified as soon as the torturers were finished with them. They were to go home, that the events of the past day had not happened, that they were to carry on as normal.

They were dropped off at their homes, dazed, confused and extremely sore. Their parents brought them back in, asking why they had returned home.

Flora and Ava recited what had been implanted in their heads.

“I’m sorry, but there was a mistake. I am not a witch.”

Over the next several weeks, they had horrific nightmares. Of being prodded, pulled, feeling as if their limbs were being removed from their sockets, or that their organs were being tugged out. Of men and women cackling wickedly.

These nightmares would haunt the two girls for the rest of their lives. And when the Second Wizarding War was over, when an actual member of Hogwarts faculty came over, lifted the spell and asked if they wished to attend, both girls gave the same answer.

“No. I’m sorry, but it’s too much for me.”

A quick reminder to their parents about Obscurials later, the girls were left alone.

But what was saddest about this situation was that these girls were lucky...


	2. Chapter 2

Reg Cattermole was certainly not happy. Then again, being imprisoned in Azkaban was considered nightmarish at the best of times.

It was bad enough that he had found his wife talking to a man identical to him – Reg suspected Polyjuice Potion – who seemed to be helping his Mary escape, but he had lost her in the confusion and been Stunned by Death Eaters.

After twenty minutes of the Cruciartus Curse, the torturers were satisfied that Reg didn’t know about the mass escape of over three dozen Muggleborns. Let alone where his wife was. Or his children, it seemed, as a Death Eater had been to their house and his ‘Muggle wife’ had used ‘a stolen wand’ against them.

Good for you, Mary, he told himself, but that was the only pleasure he got. He supposed that they might go north to some cousins that she hadn’t seen in thirty years.

That was distant enough for Death Eaters not to be interested. They were abroad as well. He didn’t know if they’d suddenly be willing to let four strangers live with them.

But he had been sent to Azkaban ‘until further notice’. Because of the influx of several new prisoners, nearly all of them Muggle-born, many prisoners had been forced to share cells. It was bad enough that a cell was only eight feet by eight feet with one bunk, cold stone floors (and he was sure that a spell had been cast to make the stones even colder) and iron bars with dancing spikes on, but now two other men had been shoved in with him.

“Wait!” a guard cried out, moving past the Dementor leering at two women in a cell nearby, “I think there’s room in here for two more!”

To Reg’s surprise, two small children were being dragged in by the scruff of their necks. Then when they had been thrown in and he could see them properly in the dim, blue light from a lamp outside, he saw they were little girls.

Bianca and Kelly were utterly terrified. They had been pulled from the Ministry after being subjected to the Cruciartus Curse and thrown in somewhere dark and horrible, where all their worst fears danced through their heads.

As soon as the door shut, Kelly pulled on the bars. As she started shouting, the spikes on the bars started to grow and almost pierced her hands.

“They do that,” the younger of the two other men grumbled, “stops prisoners making a ruckus.”

Kelly slumped to the floor onto her knees, put her head in her hands and howled. Bianca, who had been looking at her, suddenly glanced at the floor, a feeling of hopelessness flooding through, not helped by the looming Dementors outside.

“Hey,” Reg tried comforting Kelly, as if she were one of his kids, “don’t cry.”

But Kelly just edged away from him, unable to bear being touched. Bianca slumped onto the corner of the sagging mattress and wiped her bruised eye on the back of her hand. The old man sitting by her snarled, but he looked broken as well.

“Sixty years I worked for the magical community,” he snapped, “sixty years as a shop owner and what do they do? They lock me away! That was my life they just took!”

“There’s no use complaining about it,” the younger man cried, “you can’t do anything now.”

Reg ignored them and sat beside Bianca. “You all right, miss?” he asked.

Bianca shook her head. “They hurt me. They gave me a black eye. And – I wanna go home.”

Reg didn’t say that he didn’t know when – or even if – the girl would go home.

Bianca grabbed her frizzy hair in her hands and stared towards the floor.

“I don’t know what I did wrong. I proved I was a witch; I did a spell. Why did they lock me up?”

“You did nothing wrong,” Reg explained, “they’re in the wrong.”

“Why?” Bianca asked.

Reg couldn’t answer.

It was about two months before anything happened.

The day was spent the exact same way as always; wake up from either the mattress or the floor, depending on whose turn it was (the younger man had offered the girls his jacket if they ever had to sleep on the floor, but it wasn’t much), then wait for breakfast to be served through the bars at around half-past seven. Breakfast was usually pottage or a loaf of bread if they were lucky. No cutlery.

Then, many hours later, dinner would be served. A couple of slices of bread, a strip of ham, bacon or cheese, maybe a piece of fruit. The lights from the lamps would be turned off (or rather they would extinguish) at about half-past eight at night.

But today, as it turned out, was something different.

It had been the old wizard’s turn on the bed. He was almost skeletal by now and had coughed up blood. Even if the old guy did get out soon, Reg thought to himself, he might not live long.

Kelly stood cautiously by the bars, looking out at the screaming prisoners in the cells in front. That is, her eyes were aimed in that direction. She had scarcely talked since they had been locked up. Bianca wondered if the other girl was even there at all.

Kelly’s bunches, once high and neatly brushed, were shaggy and unkempt, along with the rest of her. She was much thinner and her jaw ached from not brushing her teeth. Bianca’s cheeks were sunken and the happiness had left her eyes long ago.

Then a wizard wearing black robes passed their cell as a Dementor floated next to him. The wizard, holding up a wand with a light at the end, (Kelly remembered that Reg told her this was to keep Dementors at bay) peered inside their cell.

Kelly shrank back as the wizard eyed the five of them as if they were fruit in a bowl – ready to throw out any that seemed rotten.

“The little girl,” he told someone out of sight, “she looks ready to snap any second. It’s not worth keeping her.”

The door of the cell opened and the wizard came in, his fingers grabbing Kelly’s wrist tightly. Kelly started screaming loudly, digging her heels into the floor as he held out his wand to try and immobilise her.

Almost immediately, the old man staggered to his feet. “Please,” he begged, “have me instead! She’s only a kid!”

The wizard let go of Kelly’s wrist, letting her drop onto the floor. Luckily the jacket broke her fall. She barely had enough energy to crawl away.

The wizard then held his wand out towards the old man, telling him, “One word, Mudblood, and I’ll use the Killing Curse on the lot of you.”

The old man hung his head as he was shoved out of the cell and into the corridor beyond. As Bianca lifted Kelly up and onto the bed, Reg watched through the bars as about half a dozen other witches and wizards, all pleading, were shoved away, some with Dementors almost literally on their backs.

“What’s going on?” Bianca asked, though something inside told her that she didn’t want to know.

Reg shook his head sadly and shared a glance with the young man cross-legged on the floor.

“Why won’t anyone tell me?” Bianca almost demanded. Despite being locked up, her spirit was not quite broken. But Reg didn’t look her in the eye.

“Tell me!” Bianca shouted. Without meaning to, she almost dug her nails into Kelly’s arm. If the smaller girl noticed, she didn't react.

Reg knelt down on the ground to look into Bianca’s dark eyes. “They may have been taken for the Dementor’s Kiss. It’s when – when your soul is sucked out of your body.”

The cell was silent for a brief moment, aside from Kelly’s muffled sobbing.

Then Bianca dared to ask Reg, “What – happens to your soul?”

“I’m not really sure. Some say it is consumed by the Dementor, the way you would consume food. Break it down. Some say it is trapped inside the Dementor forever. They theorise it might be – a different kind of dimension inside, where the soul stays – tormented. Ghosts exist, Bianca. There’s enough proof in the wizarding world that an afterlife exists. That’s what makes the Dementor’s Kiss utterly horrifying and unforgivable. It only happens to criminals who have committed the worst crimes. Until the Ministry of Magic rounded up all the Muggle-borns and anyone else they disliked and locked them up here. Now any of us could have it.”

Bianca didn’t say anything else. She just held Kelly close as the skinny girl wept into her jumper.

But all Bianca wanted was for someone to hold her themselves.

Another month went by.

To Bianca and Kelly, it seemed as if the cell had suddenly become colder. The days passed in a miserable haze, none of them distinguishable from another. Bianca was more aware than Kelly, since Kelly had started murmuring to herself, hugging the threadbare blanket during the day and her pupils darting around.

Kelly must have had a slightly upsetting childhood or event, Reg had told Bianca one day, otherwise she would be a little stronger. The Dementors floating outside, Bianca learned, weren’t just guards. They literally drew happiness from you.

Bianca had begun to feel the effects almost instantly. She remembered being in fights at school, back in Sparkhill, when the older children would stick her head down the toilet for ‘being different’ simply because she had jumped higher than anyone else and seemed as if she had been flying up the trees. When she had gone to the seaside with the class and a local had snapped at them, that the lot of them were 'benefits scroungers' and refused to give them the fish and chips that the class had ordered. When she had broken her leg in Bordesley Green after a shopkeeper threw a dustbin in her way when she was on her bicycle, his excuse being that he thought she had looked at him funny when he had left the mosque. Bianca had actually had the sunlight in her eyes.

Bianca hadn’t thought much about why all of worst memories were surfacing when she arrived, but now it made sense.

The guards had been squeezing more prisoners into nearby cells, Bianca noticed. Men and women of all different ages, shapes and sizes were being shoved into the cells around them. She had seen very few children going past, though, and most of them had been older, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old.

The winter months were definitely here. There was no heating inside the prison (at least, nothing that Bianca could see) and they had heard from a new prisoner walking by that there was snow on the ground.

“I must be twelve by now,” Bianca had told Reg when she found out, “my birthday’s in November.”

Kelly still sat cross-legged on the floor, wearing the oversized jacket, staring into space and mumbling. Bianca had given up trying to talk to her.

Then a horrid noise, like a snake in pain, echoed through the building. Some of the other prisoners were shouting further down the corridor. When Reg called out what was going on, someone replied, “Somebody tried to break out from the dungeons!”

“Dungeons?” Bianca asked.

The younger wizard sitting on the bed nodded. “We’re in the low-security cells,” he replied, “because we’re ‘ordinary Mudbloods’, who came for questioning. Ones who were caught on the run, or ones believed to have information that may lead to Potter’s capture, or non-humans, are imprisoned in higher security cells. Usually there’s only one or two people a cell down there. Any more serious prisoners are kept in the isolated cells, always in darkness and only have one meal a day. Barely anyone has ever left those cells alive or able to speak and when they do, it’s described as the closest thing to hell on Earth you can imagine. I don’t know what tortures go on down there. But the ones in your mind are worse.”

“How do you know this?” Bianca asked.

The young man frowned. “My dad spent over twenty-five years bringing prisoners here. Left because he married a Muggle. My mam. And I married a Muggle-born. We tried to escape, get to France. But they caught us. I don’t know where my wife is.”

He held his head in his hands, the closest that Bianca had come to seeing a man cry.

Then the news came about from further down the corridor on the left. Because of the attempted escape, ten random Muggle-born prisoners were going to be given the  
Dementor’s Kiss.

The prisoners were chosen quickly, to avoid too much fighting. Three old witches were Stunned, then three men. A small man had been dragged up from a cell downstairs, followed by another woman, who was spitting and swearing.

The door to their cell was opened and Bianca was wrenched out, before any of them could try to help her. She wouldn’t stop screaming as she was dragged away. Just in case, the younger man had managed to shield Kelly from view. But all Reg could do was call after Bianca.

“She’s a child!” he yelled. “She didn’t even know she was a witch until September!”

It was drowned out by other prisoners’ yells and cries.

Bianca held her hands near her face as she saw daylight when they were dragged outside. Soon the ten Muggle-borns (as another was grabbed closer to the outside grounds) were all thrown onto the stony ground. The ones who weren’t Stunned began pleading.

Bianca was simply confused, wondering if she could somehow escape. But they seemed to be on an island, with no way to know which direction the shore was in, or how far away it was.

Then it started. Dementors came closer to the group, who were trying their best to run back inside, even while chained. Bianca ended up being squashed beneath a very heavy witch and pinned to the ground by another chain.

The last thing she saw were the rainclouds above her. She wondered if it actually was going to rain or if it was just magic.

What seemed like an eternity passed for the three prisoners. Reg kept wondering if any of them would be taken for the Dementor’s Kiss. Despite the fact that he and the other wizard had tried fleeing with their Muggle-born wives – or, at least, Mary had fled with the children because of what someone using Polyjuice Potion had told her – they were still considered wizards because they’d been born into this world. Kelly, on the other hand, was now thin and weedy, her hair askew and matted and when she did speak she usually blurted out nonsense. Her blood heritage made it even more likely that she would be given a Kiss.

But then, one cold day at the beginning of February, the light from a Patronus reached their cell. A witch from the Ministry stood outside, looking irritated.

Reg sat up on the bed and got off, walking over to the door.

The witch gabbled quickly, using the same tone of voice you would use if you were talking about a subject you didn’t like during a meeting, but had to address those listening anyway.

“The Mudblood child has reached the end of her six-month sentence. Kelly Ann Millward is to be released to her home in Holt, Norfolk. Come on, Mudblood,” she sneered, “you’re released.”

Kelly only looked up from the floor once her name was spoken. Reg quickly leant down and told her, trying his best to be comforting, “Kelly, I think you’re going home, now.”

“I’m going home?” It was the first comprehensible sentence she’d uttered in days.

She didn’t smile. Reg wondered if Kelly had forgotten how.

Kelly walked outside to where the witch stood, before she was pushed down the corridor, in the opposite direction to where Bianca had been dragged three months before.

When the Ministry witch was in a suitable place to Apparate, she held a firm hand on Kelly’s collarbone, causing the girl to tremble.

The next thing Kelly knew was that she was standing outside her door, in Holt. The witch walked across the gravel and barked at her, “Come on, then!”

Kelly obeyed, but only because she seemed to register that she was home. As she looked up at the woman, the Ministry employee gabbled again.

“Your parents’ memories of you stealing magic have been modified. They believe that you have just been expelled from a prestigious boarding school –“

“Have I?” Kelly queried.

The witch frowned. “Don’t interrupt your elders! Now, to be frank, you were never going to Hogwarts in the first place. You’re a Muggle. You stole magic.”

Even in Kelly’s delirious state this made no sense.

The woman looked about the door, muttering, “How does this work?”

Kelly pointed at the doorbell. The woman tried not to appear somewhat pleased, before gingerly poking it with her wand.

Kelly’s mother answered the door. She didn’t seem to notice the dishevelled condition her daughter was in, nor did she seem to take in that the woman beside her was wearing a cloak and robes. Perhaps it was magic, Kelly thought.

“Kelly Ann Millward,” her mother reached forward and grabbed her daughter’s frail wrist, “you are in trouble. Get in, now!”

After pulling Kelly inside, her mother tried to smile at the witch, who did not return it.

“I’m so sorry about Kelly,” her mother tried to apologize, “she’s normally such a good girl. I would never have expected her to try to break into a car.”

“It’s quite all right,” the witch edged away from the doorstep, desperate to go back to the Ministry, “sometimes the wrong students end up with us.”

That night, although Kelly slept in a warm bed and had been well fed, she still felt miserable inside.

Far away from Azkaban, the Dementors could not touch her. But she still could barely comprehend that everything had happened. It still felt like a horrible dream. Bad memories and fantasies filled her head and she gripped her pillow in sorrow.

Little did Kelly know that she was lucky not to have died.

Three weeks after she left Azkaban, Reg was interrogated. He had been told his wife had been seen returning to Britain, to a small Muggle village in Wales.

Reg was baffled. They had no contacts in Wales, magic or Muggle. But he was given the Cruciartus Curse for over an hour nevertheless. By the time he was returned to his cell, all he could think of that wouldn’t make him miserable was the thought that his wife had also been seen on a boat not long after, heading towards Denmark.

Maybe, he told himself, Mary was then going to get a boat to Norway. He knew she had cousins up there, cousins he had never met. Maybe that’s where she and the children had been hiding.

The Death Eaters couldn’t touch them in Norway. For the time being.

Another six weeks went by.

Reg and the young wizard were growing thinner and more desperate. The food rations had been reduced again, more random prisoners taken off to be Kissed. Almost all of them had been Muggle-born.

The Dementors had lingered outside the cell. If Dementors could glower, then Reg was certain that they were underneath their hoods.

Now Reg’s head was filled with terrible visions. Of Mary and the kids being found by Death Eaters. Of Mary being tortured, just as he had been, of her being assaulted, her torn clothing lying on the ground. Of the children being forced to watch, before it was their turn.

Of their dead bodies lying in the woods.

He knew it wasn’t real. He knew that they would be okay if they stayed abroad.

But Reg couldn’t help thinking these hallucinations anyway.

So he barely noticed when he had been taken for another torture session. This time, however, about a dozen other prisoners had been taken as well. Reg didn’t understand why they were shoved up against a wall, though.

He let the Cruciartus Curse take over him. Too limp and dazed to give coherent answers, they were quick.

Reg didn’t even fully notice the last words he would ever hear.

“Avada Kedavra!”

When the young wizard noticed Reg Cattermole did not return to the cell, his first thought was that he must have died during the torture. His second thought was that he would now have the bed to himself. And his third was guilt for wanting that.

It was nearly a month later when the prisoners were released. They were lined up in the grounds while photographers from The Daily Prophet took pictures of the spindly, starved wretches.

The young wizard wanted to say that they were being hypocrites for letting You-Know-Who take over them, but he didn’t have enough energy to moan.

He remembered staying in a hospital ward for a while after that. He heard rumours that Harry Potter had killed You-Know-Who during a siege at Hogwarts, that the Dark Lord had definitely died. It was some relief, the young wizard seemed to think.

But his mind flicked back to his wife and his ageing father. He was told that summer that his father had fled to France, that his wife had been reduced to begging in Diagon Alley. Both of them had been told he was dead.

What about Reg, he had asked, and the girls?

Since he was not a relative, he wasn’t given any information. But Mary Cattermole had heard and came to tell him in hospital. If he could tell her about Reg.

So the young wizard had sat up in bed, something he never thought he would do again, saying that Reg had been taken off for a torture session sometime in early April, but never came back.

Mary had nodded and told him that she had learnt Reg was given the Killing Curse once the Death Eaters could get no more information from him.

The young wizard then asked to see the list of those who had been given the Dementor’s Kiss. It had been made public, although a trial – a much more reasonable one – was being held for the Inquisitors.

The queue to see the list in St. Mungo’s was so great that the nurses only gave out information if a friend or relative was on the ward. The list was kept locked away in an office.

But when the young wizard was well enough to walk, sometime in July, he and a few others broke into the office to have a look.

To his relief, he didn’t see Kelly’s name on the list. She really must have gone home.

But then he saw Bianca’s name with the words ‘Dementor’s Kiss’ next to it.

The young wizard had not cried since he was ten, but he did now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bianca is named after a girl I went to school with. As you can probably tell, I didn't like her.
> 
> Kelly is named after a girl I lived with five years ago. I did like her.
> 
> Next, we will look at the children who were forced to go abroad. I might be a little slow on later chapters because I have not entirely finished the story yet, but I will in due course.


	3. Chapter 3

When the crowd of Muggleborns were stumbling to the fireplaces, three children stood together near the witch and wizards who had supposedly let everybody go.

Monica Church, Marcus Dawes and Lucy Zhang, all of whom had been waiting to be seen by the High Inquisitor and had been sitting down on the benches when it was announced that they were to all go home, had tried to move through the crowd to ask the shouting man where they were to go, as they didn’t know how to get out or how to go home.

A woman with dark brown hair had been arguing loudly with one of the wizards. Marcus decided he would interrupt them to ask, but as soon as the two had disappeared in front of his eyes, he grabbed onto the wizard next to them, while grasping Monica in his other hand. Lucy reached out at the same time to hold onto the wizard and the four of them flew through the nearby fireplace, landing in what appeared to be a public toilet.

Before the three children could get their bearings, they heard the woman shouting at the wizard who was snarling horribly, calling her horrible things. They didn’t know what a Mudblood was, but they guessed that it was a nasty thing to call someone.

“Hey! Let her go!” Monica shouted, causing the wizard to turn. The blood pounded in her head as the wizard turned to them and started cornering them inside a cubicle. The girls gripped Marcus’ hand and whimpered, as he gulped and shrank back.

But then the wizard fell to the ground. The children looked up to see the woman holding a broken sink part in her hands. “It fell off – too much pressure – too many people coming out of the seat at once,” she gasped, before she told them, “grab onto me.”

The children were too afraid to do so otherwise. As soon as they did, the woman turned on her heels and disappeared. Yet again, they were flying through the air, only this time, they landed in piles of leaves.

Despite everything, Lucy found herself giggling. “That was wicked!” she laughed, playfully throwing leaves into the air.

“Sorry,” Monica retied her hair-ribbon, which was coming loose, “what was your name?”

“Mary Cattermole,” the woman was looking around rapidly, “I couldn’t leave you there.”

Then she held her face in her hands and started sobbing.

Monica stopped tying her ribbon, Lucy stopped throwing leaves about and Marcus looked at her sideways. It was strange to see an adult crying right in front of them, let alone one they’d just met.

“Did we do something wrong?” Marcus asked.

Mary shook her head. “No. I – my husband was there. And then someone else – he looked like my husband, too. I – I have to get home. Get my kids. Stay here.” She disappeared again. The children were left staring at the spot where Mary had been.

“Where do you think this is?” Monica asked, looking to her left.

“Not sure.” Marcus got up and peered around him. “It could be anywhere.”

“Why do you think those people on the benches were crying?” Monica walked over towards a metal gate about fifty yards away.

“They didn’t look very happy,” Lucy agreed, “and the two that collected us weren’t very nice. It felt cold in there.”

Marcus nodded, before he called to Monica, “Hey, don’t go far! She said to stay here.”

“I want to go home,” Monica turned on her heel, her hands turning into fists, “I don’t want to be here. And – who knows what that woman’s really like.”

“Well,” Lucy stood up and ran over, “let’s just wait. If she doesn’t come back, we’ll go out and see what’s out there.”

“Okay.” Monica mumbled, clenching her fist near her mouth.

It was several minutes before Mary Cattermole returned. When she did appear, out of thin air with the leaves she had landed on skidding across the ground, she had three more children and an assortment of cases with her. One of the children was aged ten, another was one or two years younger and the third was aged six or seven. They all looked frightened, slightly dirty, as if they had been fighting, and a tiny bit weepy.

Mary straightened the hat she was wearing and tried her best to smile at the three children sitting on piles of leaves. In utter boredom, Monica had started pulling apart split ends and Lucy was drawing pictures in the sandy ground with sticks.

“Kids,” Mary tried to smile but found it rather difficult, “these are my children. Maisie, Ellie and Alfred. Maisie, Ellie, Alfred, these are…” she trailed off, realising that she hadn’t asked the first-years their names.

Marcus stood up, grinning at them. He held his hand out. “I’m Marcus. Pleased to meet you.”

Monica got up and shuffled her way over to Marcus, clinging like a limpet. “I’m Monica.”

“Lucy.” The other girl said as she stood up. Then she eyed the suitcases. “How come you’ve got suitcases and we lost ours at the station?”

“Yeah,” Monica mumbled, “I want my owl back. He was sweet.”

Mary sighed, pulling a thin strand of hair behind her ear. “Because we have to leave our home. This was all we could get at short notice.” Alfred sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve as he pulled a ragdoll shaped like a bunny close to his face.

Marcus, Monica and Lucy looked at each other, confused. “Does this mean,” Marcus began, “that we’re not going to the magical school?”

Mary Cattermole shook her head. “I’m sorry, loves. And you can’t go home. It’s too dangerous.”

“But what about my mum and dad?” Monica asked, her voice trembling, “They’ll be expecting letters back.”

“Look, there’s no time to explain,” Mary interrupted, “just hand my kids’ hands. We have to leave the country. I’ll explain on the way.”

The three children were hesitant to go with this woman, even if they were certain that she may have saved their lives. But they gingerly moved closer, Marcus and Monica yet again holding hands. They took Ellie’s shaking hand and Lucy took Alfred’s, who shook away, before grabbing Maisie’s jumper.

They landed on a wobbly surface, with the smell of seaweed wafting around them. Once Monica, Marcus and Lucy managed to get their bearings back yet again (and Lucy was certain that she might throw up), they saw that they were on a boat. A boat which had just left a harbour, it seemed, as some cliffs were in the distance.

Mary looked at the six children staring up at her. This was going to be tricky.

“Now,” she breathed in deeply, “I was told that I had to leave the country. Maisie, Ellie, Alfie, I don’t know where Dad is. Monica, Marcus, Lucy, just please stay quiet and don’t ask questions; I don’t mean to sound like your teacher, but I have enough on my plate at the moment. Now, here’s the story we have to stick to. You three,” she looked at the first-years, “are Maisie’s friends from school. We’re going on holiday to  
Norway for a week.”

“But it’s September,” Lucy pointed out.

Mary nodded. “Private schools go back later. At least, Muggle ones do, anyway.”

“What is a Muggle?” Marcus questioned her after cleaning his glasses. “We were called Muggles. It doesn’t sound very nice.”

Mary sighed. Even with all the persecution of Muggleborns, she never would have expected to end up on a ferry to her second cousins in Norway with the kids. And an extra three to boot.

I just hope you’re OK, Reg, she told herself as she herded the children into the cafeteria area.

Nearly six hours later, the ferry had docked in Brevik.

Cold, miserable and confused, the six children followed Mary Cattermole out to the dock. She somehow ushered them out in the confusion to the road. The three first-years wondered if she had somehow confused them, even if she didn’t have a wand, but they weren’t entirely sure.

Magic didn’t seem exciting any more. It seemed scary, forbidding and dangerous. All they wanted was to go home and they didn’t know why Mary Cattermole had taken them here, nice as she seemed.

Marcus walked in front, Monica gripping his hand anxiously. Lucy trailed behind them, glancing from side to side in case any cars came whizzing past. Or even worse, dangerous people, magic or otherwise.

Soon the Cattermoles and the first-years had arrived at a crossroads. Mary had pulled a road map from her pocket and was trying to hold it upright, grumbling as she did so. “This way – no, wait, it’s the other way. What does – ah! This is in Norwegian! Maisie, be a dear and see if you can read this properly, okay?”

Marcus held his hands over his stomach. “Mrs Cattermole? I’m hungry.” He tried not to sound as if he was moaning, but it came out that way anyway.

Mary’s strained expression was enough for all six children to feel bad. She was moments away from breaking down into tears.

“Mummy,” Maisie gave back the map, “they live down that way.”

“Are you sure, Maisie?”

Maisie nodded.

“Fine,” Mary breathed, “come on. It’s just a five-minute walk. Then we can eat, all right?”

Alfie sniffed and ran his nose on his sleeve. Ellie pulled her hairband out, having twisted it for most of the last hour. The three first-years moved closer together.

Mary sighed inwardly. If her cousins turned her away, she had no idea what she’d do.

She knew it was wrong bringing three strange children with her, but Mary thought that they’d be safer away from Death Eaters.

Hopefully, she told herself, if the Ministry find that they aren’t at their parents’ houses, when they finish interrogating them, they’ll simply Obliviate them of what happened. The parents might think the kids are still in school.

It was tragic that this was the best case scenario.

Her cousins weren't living there.

They had moved ages ago and no-one had told her. That was to be expected, of course, she hadn't seen them in years. But it still hurt, all the same.

Mary had absolutely no clue what to do.

Modifying memories and squatting in the house next door was all she could do for the next week.

But the children were utterly miserable.

"I'm scared," Monica had said when she, Marcus and Lucy were watching Norwegian television, "I don't want to be a witch."

"I think that it might not be so bad," Marcus argued, "Maybe the magic school has much nicer people than the judge."

"But what if it's not?" Monica blew hair from her face and started to walk to the stairs.

Lucy stood up and desperately grabbed her friend's hand. Monica stopped in her tracks, but didn't turn around. "Monica, we have to have hope. Everything will get better. Look, you said you lived in Giggleswick in Yorkshire, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I live only forty minutes away! I live in another little village." Lucy tried to be optimistic, but she knew that Monica wouldn't smile.

"I live in a market town called Chatteris, down in Cambridgeshire," Marcus got up from the sofa, "but I'd be glad to have you girls visit any time."

"See? There's a positive side to everything," Lucy tried her best to persuade Monica.

The corner of Monica's lip curled in a short smile, but she stayed silent, instead going upstairs.

After a week, Mary went back to England. For two days, she searched around for the children's houses, then talked to their parents, pretending to be from the school.

Then she went back to Norway and took Marcus, Monica and Lucy home. She helped the children become their own Secret Keepers, as well as herself, hoping that this would be enough.

She kept telling herself that these weren't her children, that she shouldn't have to do all of this for them. But Mary didn't want to see another child wrenched away from their parents simply because of their blood status.

When the Second Wizarding War was over, when Mary revealed where they were, the Minerva McGonagall visited each of their families in turn.

"Marcus," she took a deep breath as she asked, "do you still wish to come to Hogwarts?"

"Sure," he smiled, his mother proudly holding him close and squeezing his shoulder, "I can't wait!"

McGonagall sighed to herself as she left. Even if just one Muggle-born child attended Hogwarts then they would have beaten the Death Eater regime. They wouldn't have been beaten down.

Lucy Zhang was also overjoyed. When McGonagall started to leave, she heard Lucy's parents excitedly cheering in Mandarin. This event was indeed a cause for celebration.

But she did not have luck at Monica's house. The girl sat on the armchair, refusing to have any of the tea from the floating teacups.

"It was the worst week of my life," she grumbled, "And what if people are nasty to me there as well?"

"After everything that happened over the last year," McGonagall tried to explain, "anyone who shows any sign of bigotry - from both angles, I might add - will be instantly expelled. There's no need to worry."

Monica still shook her head. "I'm sorry, miss," she mumbled, "I don't think I can go."

McGonagall noticed a letter addressed to Lucy Zhang on Lucy's desk when she left the room. She silently begged that neither girl would become jealous of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter was a bit longer and the argument in Norway was more fleshed out, but I lost around fifteen hundred words while typing this. I really hope you have enjoyed this so far.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created the character of Stanley Robinson to demonstrate that while there are a sheer number of innocent Muggle-borns who were arrested and killed by the Death Eaters, chances are that out of the hundreds of them, there would be at least a few bad eggs.

Jessie Edwards, Finn Pearson and Zachary Small-Bone were all still being used by torturers when the mass escape took place.

A bored witch started up the Imperius Curse, making Jessie undertake difficult ballet poses, some of which were on top of levitating furniture. Two wizards had made Finn jump from the furniture, using a levitation spell to catch him every time he was near the ground. However, they let him drop a different height each time, laughing at his terrified screams. Zachary Small-Bone was contorting his body into many different positions, controlled by a beefy wizard. Zachary thought he could hear his bones popping in his ears.

Then the Muggle-borns escaped.

The three children were discarded like ragdolls on the floor, as some other Muggle-borns, who had come inside to try and find their friends or relatives, entered cautiously.

Nearly all of them left immediately, but one man, a large guy built like a boulder, lifted Finn to his feet. “You okay, kid?” he asked.

Out of breath, Finn could only nod, although he certainly didn’t feel all right. The man tugged Jessie and Zachary to their feet.

“Nearly everyone’s run out the front,” he breathed, “but people are going to come down here soon, work out something’s wrong. We’d better get away now.”

“Where to?” Zachary squeaked, barely audible, “They took the wands. You need wands to teleport, don’t you?”

“No, but we can get to the fireplaces, find some way out.” the man gabbled, running into the corridor.

The three battered, exhausted and frightened children looked at each other.

Eventually, Zachary broke the silence by mumbling, “We don’t really have a choice.”

They followed the man upstairs, with the dark, ghostly figures held at bay with a wand that the man had grabbed in the commotion.

As soon as they reached the room with all of the fireplaces, there was absolute chaos going on. Ministry officials were trying their best to stop Muggle-borns using the Floo Network to escape, dragging them to the floor if they weren’t using their wands. However, the man seized Jessie’s wrist and pulled her to a nearby, presumably unguarded fireplace.

When a guard shouted and pointed to the fireplace that they were using, the three children shrank back in fear. But the boulder-sized man had already set off.

Arriving in a cottage, the four rolled out onto a clean carpet. The three children started coughing, but the figure was in too much of a hurry. Stepping on Finn’s foot roughly and linking arms with Zachary, he Apparated away.

When the four of them smashed down onto a grassy hillside, the children wondered if the clothes in washing machines feel like this. If said washing machines were filled with rusty nails.

When the three children shook the soot out of their hair, they had a look at where they had landed. They were right in the middle of the countryside, with fields as far as the eye could see. The hillside they were on was not steep, so they pulled to their feet and followed the man to a nearby car park, which had only one car.

“Sir,” Zachary asked, “could you please tell us your name?”

The man looked over his shoulder at them, a little surprised. Then he broke into a smile. A rather nasty smile, it seemed.

“Stanley Robinson,” he held his hand out for Zachary to shake, “Muggle-born, like you.”

Zachary was a little wary, but shook his head anyway. Stanley had a firm grip.

“Muggle-born?” Jessie asked as she and Finn approached. Stanley went back to trying to prise the car door open, this time with a branch on the ground.

“Didn’t you read the books you were given?” he asked.

“Yes.” All three children answered in unison. They looked at each other, their faces breaking out into small smiles. Jessie gave a giggle.

They definitely had read the books. Finn was not a very good reader, since he had dyslexia. But his older brother – who had been a little bit jealous, to be honest – had helped him through everything. He couldn’t read the incantations either, but Finn had tried his best anyway.

He now remembered how excited he had been to find out that he was a wizard. That he was going to a magic school instead of boring old Baddow High. Every night Finn had dreamed of the wonder and amazement that might be there. And now, he had been robbed of his wand and books, tortured and thrown from great heights, forced to run away with a stranger and was stuck in a car park in God knows where. He tried his best not to cry. It would be embarrassing enough to cry in front of a girl, Finn thought, but in front of a stranger was mortifying.

Jessie curled up her fist in her sleeve and placed it by her mouth. She thought she had stopped doing this long ago, when she had entered the Juniors. Her parents had always told her that it was okay to cry if you were really upset. They had tried telling her the difference between crying for attention and crying when the cat died, but Jessie had been confused and didn’t cry at all. Now all she wanted was to go home. She didn’t want to be a witch. Not if it meant entering a scary world where you were made to twist your body into horrible shapes against your will and were lied to.

Of course she had read the books. She had been eager to fly a broom, just as she had done with the toy broom she flew at Halloween when she was eight. She thought that she actually had flown up several inches from the ground, but had told herself this was her imagination. It was starting to look as if she would never fly a broom, though.

Zachary had raced through the books at the speed of lightning. His parents had been anxious at first, but were quickly impressed when he had made the dinner hover and land on the table without spilling anything. He had been looking forward to learning more magic, so that he could carry on pleasing his parents, to be something other than a mechanic like his dad.

Now those dreams had been dashed and torn up like confetti. He still wanted to be a wizard, of course. He had always been a determined young man and some old toad in pink wasn’t going to stop him. If anything, it made him even more desperate.

Stanley finally prised the door open with a grunt. “Well, do you want to stand out here all day, or do you want to get home?” he grumbled.

Jessie made her way around into the passenger seat while the boys sat in the back. Stanley bent down to hotwire the engine.

“You see,” he mumbled as he tried to place two wires close enough to each other to start without burning himself, “wizards don’t think learning to hotwire a car is a good thing. I can see why they think that if they use brooms and Portkeys and the Floo Network all the time. But it’s still a useful tool if you get stuck out here, far away from any wizarding contact.”

He started up the car, gave a hearty laugh and slammed the door. “Oh! We’re in luck!” he smiled, handing out two sandwiches still in their plastic wrapping from the seat.

As he drove onto the small, winding road, Zachary asked, “Exactly where are we?”

“Oh, someplace in Ayrshire,” Stanley trailed off, “went here on a hiking trip when I was your age. Before I started at Hogwarts. First place that came to mind. Hasn’t changed a bit since I was here, though.”

“Ayrshire?” Zachary perked up, “I live in Dumfries and Galloway! It’s not too far!” it finally seemed as if he was going to have a piece of good luck.

“Eh? What about you two?” Stanley asked, eyes still on the road, going at about ten miles an hour.

“West Hanningfield.” Finn replied, matter-of-factly.

“Really?” Jessie turned in her seat. “I live in Witham! We’re right next to each other!”

“Well, Essex is still a long way away,” Stanley muttered, “so I’d say our best option right now is to find – what’s your name, boy?”

“Zachary.” Zachary answered, just before Jessie and Finn gave him their names.

“Right, we’re going to try Zachary’s house first.” Stanley reassured him.

Zachary felt a warm glow through his body as he thought of home. He could get away from all this unpleasantness. And if he was asked to come back – though he doubted it – he would simply say that he would never go back in a million years.

After a while of sitting of silence, Jessie turned her head and asked Stanley, “How did you find out about the magical world? Did you get a letter like we did?”

Stanley nodded. “Yes. I was eleven years old, just like you. I went to Hogwarts. Smashing place. People were a bit nasty because I don’t have magical parents, but apart from that, everything went swimmingly. Didn’t get very good marks, though.

Only average. Started working in Diagon Alley after that. Got thrown out for…well, never mind that. Let’s just say that I was back to working in the muggle world for twenty years. Then this all comes up again because my name was recorded in Azkaban. Never going back there again.”

The children hadn’t understood a word of what Stanley had said. But it sounded terrible.

After a while, Stanley pulled up on a dirt road in a valley. He was grumbling that the engine was playing up. “Trust me to choose a bad car,” he groaned, “guys, do you think you could walk down that way and see if you notice any hikers or something?”

“But – what if they’re bad wizards?” Zachary asked.

“I doubt anyone followed me here,” Stanley answered, “but just take a look, anyway? I’ll come if you take too long. No need to worry.”

He held up the stolen wand in his hand from where it had sat in the glovebox.

“I’m too scared,” Jessie mumbled, “I’ll stay in here.”

“Okay. Be back soon!” Finn half-heartedly waved at them as he and Zachary walked along the dirt road.

After five minutes of looking around, the two boys couldn’t see a house, never mind a hiker. But as they went back, they heard a horrible noise.

At first they thought it was an animal, whether one they knew or some magical creature they had read about in their Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them handbooks. Which, unfortunately, they thought they may never see again.

But then they heard Jessie squealing.

They ran around the corner to the car, thinking that they would find the scary people from the Ministry there, but all they saw was Stanley leaning over inside the car.

They heard Jessie crying again as they approached. Then Stanley said, “Oh, stop it! It will be over shortly.”

Finn shouted out, causing Stanley to jump. At his angle, he almost hit his head on the roof. Zachary raced around the side to see Jessie lying over the seats on her back and her skirt askew. He didn’t know what had happened, but it was obvious that Jessie was in pain.

Zachary helped her out as Stanley backed out through his door, calling out after them when they ran away down the path.

“You can’t keep running! You’ll die out there! I was only having a feel!”

They didn’t stop running until they had reached another fork in the road. Panting from exhaustion, they all stopped and leant on a nearby stile.

“What now?” Zachary asked, gripping onto the wooden stile, “He’s not chasing us, is he?”

“Don’t think so,” Finn wiped the sweat off his brow, “Jessie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” the little girl mumbled, “let’s just go.”

She walked some way ahead of them after they had jumped over the stile and were climbing up a gigantic hill.

“It’s actually a mountain. It’s the Cairnsmore of Carpharin. It’s almost eight hundred metres high.” Zachary explained.

Finn snorted. “Just our luck. We get tortured, abducted and now we’re stumbling over a mountain. If we meet any horrible witches or wizards up here, Zachary, you tell me what we should do.”

Zachary looked taken aback. Finn sighed, running a hand through his dark brown curls. “Look, I’m sorry,” Finn tried to apologize, “I – I just want to go home. I’m not even going to bother with the magic stuff anymore.”

Zachary nodded, although he himself still wanted to go to the school, regardless of whether that horrid judge had said.

Catching up with Jessie, the two boys sat down beside her by a stream as she tried drinking from it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Zachary explained, “see, you need a tube. You take some water and shake it and if it turns a certain colour, you know if there’s the right amount of pH. Otherwise you could get rather sick.”

Jessie already seemed a little sick. Finn looked at her pale face and asked, “Jessie? Do you want to talk about it?”

A few seconds of silence lingered before Jessie opened up.

“He –“ she threw her plait behind her shoulders, “said that he’d been sent away from the magic world because – because he hurt kids. He said he hadn’t been let anywhere near children in a long time so this wasn’t – wasn’t my fault.”

She gave a small hiccup as she sobbed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I – I closed my eyes. I think I’d rather have had that torture back in the courtroom again.”

Neither boy had anything to say to that. After what seemed like an eternity of sitting by the stream, Zachary pushed himself to his feet.

“Well, I know roughly where we are. I know the village that’s just on the other side of the cairnsmore. If we hurry we can get there by sundown. Anyone got a watch?”

Finn’s watch said it was half past three already.

“Okay, so maybe not sundown,” Zachary tried to think, “but definitely by tomorrow.”

“But I’m hungry,” Finn told him, “and tired.”

“We just have to try,” Zachary helped him up, “and who knows, there could be hikers up here who can give us food. They can’t be worse than anyone we’ve met today, could they?”

Jessie and Finn glanced at each other before they followed Zachary up the mountain.

Darkness fell. The night grew colder. The three children hadn’t been outside this late at night before.

But they still trudged on.

Since it was September, nobody dared to go out camping in this weather. And even if they had had a torch, Zachary pointed out, they wouldn’t know which berries to pick. He’d probably know, but unless he saw them in sunlight, he might not be able to tell one berry from another.

Jessie thought that she’d rather have her mother’s sausage casserole right about now and that had made her throw up.

Going down something is usual much easier than coming up, but going down in the dark is definitely not recommended.

Which meant that the unfortunate children had to sleep outside.

They didn’t have tents, sleeping bags, a campfire or even a coat. Finn and Jessie nestled up by one of the large piles of rocks that seemed to be scattered about (no doubt Zachary would have an explanation for them) and talked to each other.

“I used my wand to make a vase fly and place all of the roses inside,” Finn told Jessie, “I thought that it looked very pretty. I was looking forward to using it in lessons.”

“I wanted to fly a broom,” Jessie wistfully murmured, “to fly above the treetops and over the village. I’ve always wanted to fly. Most of my dreams involve flying.”

Finn nodded, even though he knew Jessie wouldn’t see him. “Apparently, that’s a common dream,” he explained, “It means that you want to be free.”

“What about the other kids?” Jessie asked nervously. “That John kid seemed rather nice.” 

____

 

____

John Peterson had been ushered out quickly during the mass escape. Confused and knocked over at every turn by rushing adults, he had searched around for another child.

The only one he could find was a couple of years older than him. He was a stocky young man with blonde hair who was gabbling in French to a nearby older woman.

“Excuse me,” John had run up, “I need to go home.”

The woman nodded. “Follow us.”

When they had exited through the toilets, John had stammered, watching the woman fight with an aggressive-looking man as he and the boy cowered behind a skip, “How – how do I get home?”

The older boy swore in French, before he explained, “The Death Eaters will be looking for your home now. Your mother and father – I do not know.”

Before John could react, a flash of green light illuminated behind them. The woman’s spellwork ceased. The older boy held his head in his hands and wept.

John felt conflicted emotions flooding through. After peeking around the side, he saw the woman lying on the ground, lifeless. The man prodded her with his wand and kicked her in the stomach, letting her roll over. He snorted and turned around, going back to the toilet cubicle.

“Maman?” the boy called, before he ran to her body. John stayed put. He turned around and looked in the other direction. This was a private moment, he told himself, and he shouldn’t try and interfere.

Then John felt heavy breathing on his neck. Slowly turning around, he saw a rough-looking wizard – he had to be, since he was wearing robes like the other wizards John had seen – holding a wand out to the side, looking straight at him.

John shuffled away and opened his mouth to scream, but the rough-looking wizard held out a large hand and clamped it over the boy’s mouth. John struggled in his grasp, pulling away at the hand, afraid that if he panicked then he would suffocate, despite the fact that he had to try and get away anyway...

The man pulled John closer and said through gritted teeth, “Be quiet or the Death Eaters will kill both of us!”

John sat limply and listened as the French boy started shouting angrily at somebody. Then a voice cried, “Stupefy!”

The rough-looking wizard hissed into John’s ear, “That was Eva Baillairge and her son. She worked with me in the foreign sector. Translating and the like.”

John finally pushed the man’s hand away, although the wizard had stopped gripping so tightly and simply let John go. “What was that?” John asked, unsure where to start.

The wizard sighed. “You’re Muggle-born, aren’t you?”

John waited for a second before nodding.

“Figures. You were supposed to start at the magic school this year. But – well, let’s say that something happened last May that changed everything. Now if Muggle-born children – kids with non-magical parents – try to start there, they’re dragged in front of the Ministry and accused of stealing magic. And if they find you guilty of stealing magic, you go to the wizarding prison and trust me, kid, it’s far worse than any prison in Muggle England.”

John still couldn’t understand anything, but even with the little information he had been given, he knew this was unfair.

“And you?” he quivered.

The wizard shrugged. “Frank James. Muggle-born myself. That green light you saw, kid? That was the Killing Curse. I would never have believed they’d kill Eva without a trial first.”

“A-And the boy?” John felt even more scared than before.

“Well, he’s not a British citizen. It’s complicated. Most likely scenario is that they’ll shove him in the wizarding prison. Since he’s got a wizard dad, he’ll most likely be sent back to France if they don’t kill him to keep him quiet.”

John swallowed. Frank James groaned to himself.

“Best get you home, kid, if anything else. Where you from, anyway?”

“Pontrhydfendigaid.” John answered.

The wizard stared at him. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“It’s in Wales.” John gave the same answer he gave to everyone who couldn’t pronounce his village’s name.

Frank James muttered to himself. “Right, the good news is that I’ve still got my wand with me. The bad news is that I have no idea where In Wales to go.”

“It’s in Ceredigion, in the west.” John explained.

Frank James didn’t need to tell him that this was little help. He made up his mind to try and get to Swansea, even though he hadn’t been there in years.

“OK, kid –“

“John Peterson, sir.”

“John, this is going to be scary. But if I do this correctly, you won’t lose any body parts.”

John decided that losing a body part was preferable to possibly being killed, so when Frank James told him to grip on, he did so.

Landing in Swansea, Frank James pulled John towards a train station. “We’re going back to your home, John. Tell me if you recognise any of the names.”

John thanked Frank James, then looked at the timetable. It took them a while, but they soon figured out that they should take the train going directly north.

It was almost six-thirty by the time that the two of them arrived in John’s quaint little village. When John reached the end of his road, he smiled up at Frank James.

“Thank you, sir.” He gabbled, running off to the house, before Frank James could call out that he needed to see if Death Eaters had visited.

When John pushed open the door, he called out for his grandma. He shut the door behind him, letting it latch. He ran into the living room and grinned when he saw his grandma sitting on the sofa.

Then his grin faded, replaced by worry as soon as he saw her sitting absolutely still.

“Grandma?” he asked, gingerly walking up to her and touching her arm.

His grandmother’s body crumpled to the ground, her eyes bulging and lifeless. He gasped and stepped back, his heart beating in his mouth.

Then the living room door slammed shut. Penny Merryweather stood there, smirking nastily.

“Your parents were out, Mudblood,” she sneered, “and won’t they get a shock when they come home and find their magic-stealing little boy dead?”

“What did you do to Grandma?” John shouted, unable to hold himself together.

Merryweather did not react to his obvious fear. She strode up and cornered him. He shrank down so that he was sitting, then pulled his legs to his chest, his big green eyes filled with tears.

Merryweather raised her wand to shout the Killing Curse.

But then there was the sound of smashing glass. A brick flew through the window, chipping a china cat and landing on the carpet. Merryweather turned around in shock as Frank James then aimed at her.

“Stupefy!” he yelled, but Merryweather dodged him.

As she called out the Killing Curse repeatedly through the window and he called out Stunning Spells, John crawled out on his hands and knees through the living room door and outside into the front garden. He crouched under the windowsill as the Killing Curse flew through the little village. Thankfully, the angle that John’s house was at meant that it mostly ricocheted off nearby walls or hit garden gnomes with almighty bangs.

Three Killing Curses hit some local dogs fighting over a bone. Another hit a neighbour who had been leaving her house to go to the pub. One shot almost hit a child peering out from a nearby window, instead hitting the cat sitting by her windowsill.

Eventually, however, Frank James managed to strike Merryweather. Before he could say anything to John, Frank James Apparated with her body.

John, unable to comprehend anything that had happened, curled up and began howling.

By the time his parents returned the following morning from another village, having spent the night at a friend’s house, they found their scared, cold son on the porch.

John was immediately taken to hospital to be treated for possible pneumonia. John refused to tell his parents about what he had seen.

_I’ll never go to the magic world,_ he vowed, _never._


	5. Chapter 5

Meanwhile, Zachary, Jessie and Finn had woken up with the sunlight beaming onto their faces.

Zachary managed to pull himself up and told Jessie and Finn, who were partially lodged under a rock, “Hey! Come on! It’s time to go!”

“Shut up,” Finn glowered, but Zachary tugged him up.

Jessie, who now had a red nose, shivered. “I-I’m cold,” she held her hands under her armpits, as she had done throughout the night, “d-do you k-k-know the w-way h-h-h-home?”

“I think it’s over that way,” Zachary pointed a freezing cold finger towards some mist, “come on!”

They skidded down the hill faster than any of them wanted, mainly due to Finn slipping on some mud and getting his trousers and brand new school shirt ruined. His hands were red and sore and chapped and Jessie thought that he might need a hospital.

“Look, there’s a village at the bottom of the mountain,” Zachary tried to persuade them, “and I can’t go alone because I might not find you.”

Jessie wiped her runny nose on her wet sleeve and mumbled, “I hope you’re right.”

When they had come across a cluster of buildings on the country road, they could barely stand up from exhaustion. Jessie was leaning on Finn’s shoulders, her feet almost skidding on the frozen mud below. Finn himself was slightly floppy and kept sneezing. Zachary’s head felt woolly and slower and he knew that he must be ill.

When they stopped outside the local pub, Zachary knocked on the door as Jessie slumped onto the cold gravel. She didn’t even care that it was digging into her skin. Finn leant on the wooden fence, his heart ringing in his ears, deafening him to all other sounds.

Zachary managed to knock on the door again. As it opened, the barmaid called out, “What do you want?”

When she saw three children there, she was about to slam the door on them again when she saw how grubby they were.

Zachary tried to smile at her. “Hi, I-I’m Zachary. My Uncle Mack drinks here sometimes.”

The barmaid cried, “What in God’s name has happened to you bairns? You look like Death warmed up.”

Jessie could only mumble one word, but it was loud enough. “Hoppital.”

“Hoppital?” the barmaid asked, then her eyes widened. “You mean hospital? I shouldn’t do this, but – you look awful. Come in.”

Soon the three children were sitting down by the unlit fireplace, holding mugs of coffee – the only warm drink in the pub – as the barmaid gabbled on the landline.

“Yes, they just turned up out of nowhere. I know one of the kids, he’s a regular’s nephew. Haven’t seen the other two before. Thank you.”

She placed the phone back on the speaker and glanced at the three of them over the counter. “The village doctor’s on the way. What have you been doing?”

Zachary gabbled about being in a stranger’s car when they fell off of the train to school and had to walk over the Cairnsmore of Carsphrain.

“You poor bairns,” the barmaid sighed, “and you were out all night?”

Zachary nodded. Finn and Jessie were too numb to talk or do anything except sip coffee.

The barmaid then questioned why they hadn’t asked the stranger to drive them to a telephone box. Zachary looked down at the floor as he said that he had been a ‘bad man’ who had tried to hurt Jessie.

The barmaid swore under her breath and went to make another phone call.

The village doctor, a portly, kind man with thinning red hair, said that Jessie and Finn were suffering from hypothermia and needed medical attention immediately. Zachary seemed to be reasonably better off than either of them, but had to go to the hospital anyway.

When the three of them were lying in their hospital beds, their parents were contacted. Zachary’s horrified parents rushed immediately to his bedside. Finn and Jessie’s parents took the next train up from Essex. When Jessie was able to sit up properly, about two days later, a policewoman came around to talk to her about ‘the bad man’.

Jessie didn’t want any nasty witches or wizards to come after them, so she said – truthfully – that she didn’t know what type of car it was or the licence plate. Only that the man had a London accent and was named Stanley.

The policewoman filed a report and left Jessie in her room, as the girl cuddled close to her teddy. She promised then that she would never go back to that school.

The next day, both Finn’s and Jessie’s parents went south with them. They privately asked their children why they hadn’t gone to the magic school and what happened to their wands and cases?

Both Finn and Jessie replied that there had been a mistake and they couldn’t go. Their parents kept asking why, because it was obvious that they were a witch and wizard.

But both of them said that it wasn’t worth going back. Their parents wondered if something was amiss, since they didn’t talk about the school, or the magical world. But they didn’t pursue it any further.

Zachary went straight home after his parents took him from the hospital.

“Zachary, darling,” his mother knelt down in front of him when they entered the front room and looked into his eyes, “we should try and contact the school and say what happened to you. You lost your brand new trunk and all of your school supplies.”

Zachary shook his head. “No, I don’t want to go back.”

“But you were so talented, Zachary.” She stood up and sighed.

Zachary felt torn inside. He desperately wanted to go, but if he tried then next time he might not make it out alive.

After a week, he eventually confided in his mother about what had really happened at the train station. She was horrified and held him close, calling him her ‘poor baby’. She didn’t let him out of her sight for weeks after that and he felt more isolated than ever.

He still sent letters to Finn and Jessie’s houses, though. It wasn’t their fault they ended up like this.

Jessie’s letters came with stickers on them and she had signed her name in green gel. Finn’s came with stick-figure drawings of him playing football.

Zachary kept them in his dresser. He didn’t want his mother to see them.

When Minerva McGonagall visited Zachary’s house to tell him and his parents that it was now safe for him to return to Hogwarts in the new year, his mother had stood up from her sofa and barked.

“My son was tortured! How could you even think of sending him to that school?”

“I assure you, Mrs Small-Bone,” McGonagall tried her best to calm her, “that any mistreatment will be severely dealt with.”

“I can’t trust you,” Mrs Small-Bone shrieked, “I’m sorry, you seem like a good person, but I can’t send my son there.”

“I want to go,” a small voice piped up from the doorway.

“Zachary, are you sure?” his father asked.

Zachary nodded. “I don’t care what they say about people who weren’t brought up in the magic world. I’m going.”

McGonagall thanked him before leaving. As she did, she wondered about the boy’s surname. Was it possible that he was somehow related to Susan Bones? If he was, and if they could prove it, there may be a chance that Zachary could go through Hogwarts unscathed.

But even if he was related to the Bones family, she doubted that he would be left alone by purebloods’ angry glares.


	6. Chapter 6

**10th May 1998**

McGonagall sat in her office, deep in thought.

When everything had been cleaned up inside the castle, she had brought out the Book of Admittance. Confiding in the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix what she had done, she had gone to each of the Muggle-borns’ houses in turn.

Everything seemed to have gone...she wouldn’t have used the term ‘better’, but rather ‘more reasonable’ than she would have thought when it came to the ones who should have started the previous September.

She had gone to Azkaban upon reading the records. To search for what had happened to students sentenced to go there.

A fifteen-year-old student had gone there back in September and he had been given the Kiss, his Muggle family fleeing the country. A sixteen-year-old Muggle-born girl had been caught by Snatchers in November and dragged here, suffering from prolonged exposure to the Imperius Curse. A younger child, a boy of just thirteen, had been shoved inside a cell with six grown adults and had now gone blind.

Only two of the eleven students who had been interrogated had come here, it seemed; Bianca Osborne and Kelly Millward.

McGonagall felt a chill go down her spine as she read that Bianca had been given the Dementor’s Kiss on 8th December. Her body had been thrown into the sea, along with other victims of the Kiss.

Kelly, it appeared, had been released to her home in Norfolk, her parents’ memories modified.

McGonagall had gone straight there.

She had knocked on the door and Kelly’s older brother had answered.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked.

“David Millward?” she asked. The boy nodded. “I am here from the school that Kelly was due to start at last September.”

“My parents said she was expelled last February,” he seemed confused.

McGonagall waved a hand about, flustered. “I need to speak to your parents, young man. There was a grave mistake and we would like to invite Kelly back.”

Her brother blew out and wiped his hand down the side of his jeans. “I’m sorry, miss...”

“Minerva McGonagall.”

“Minerva, but – Kelly had a spot of bother after her birthday last April. She was having nightmares and screamed if people came near her. She wasn’t making sense and she – my sister stopped using full sentences.”

“I promise you,” McGonagall assured him, “that we can give Kelly the help she needs.”

“She is getting the help she needs, in Wells-by-the-Sea,” David explained, “My parents sent her to a mental hospital.”

McGonagall then shouted something that she would never say in front of her students.

“Merlin’s testicles!”

Kelly Millward was currently in her bedroom. The bed, duvet, vanity set and cupboards were all eggshell white, as were the loose pyjamas she was wearing.

Her hair hung down her back instead of in bunches and her green eyes were deep and lifeless. She didn’t smile, according to the nurses, and hadn’t smiled since she came here. She wouldn’t speak very much either, mainly just ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. When she had been asked to draw what was troubling her, she had drawn what the staff had called the Grim Reaper.

They also said that Kelly had had nightmares before she arrived, but after she came, they intensified. She screamed, hit, bit and scratched and wept loudly. She tore at her clothes with her teeth and hit the walls, even running across the wall in her pyjamas one night. Medication couldn’t soothe her and she spent most of the time in her room staring at the television.

When McGonagall sat down on the end of the girl’s bed, the frail twelve-year-old looking glumly back at her, the teacher tried to explain.

“Kelly, do you understand that you were chosen to attend the school?”

Kelly nodded.

“And that – something happened that shouldn’t have happened?”

Another nod.

“Kelly, what happened to you was not your fault. You do understand that?”

Kelly nodded again, holding her teddy close.

“Your parents should never have sent you here. They thought they were doing the right thing, but they weren’t to know. Kelly, you are a witch, no matter what anyone says. I just wish you the best.”

As McGonagall turned to leave, Kelly spoke.

“Bianca.”

McGonagall looked at Kelly curiously. Kelly had lined up some of teddies on her bed. Three big ones and two tiny ones. She placed the tiny ones together by her cushions, using one of them to hold their stubby arms around the other.

“Bianca Osborne?” McGonagall queried.

Kelly looked up. Then she pushed one of the bigger teddies off the bed and then the tiny teddy that had been holding the other. Kelly made little airplane noises as the other tiny teddy flew in her hand and on to another cushion.

“You do understand that Bianca is dead, don’t you, Kelly?” McGonagall tried to ease her way into knowing how much Kelly would work out in her addled mind.

Kelly nodded. Then she waved goodbye with her hand to the teddies on the floor.

McGonagall knew that this girl would never be well enough to go to Hogwarts. But she could do something.

A few weeks later, Kelly was back at home. Her mind had been completely damaged and she would never be able to look after herself, but if she wasn’t locked away then she might become slightly better, McGonagall had decided.

It was the least she could do.

**1st September 1998**

Marcus Dawes, Lucy Zhang and Zachary Small-Bone stood in the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat sent eleven-year-olds to their tables.

Marcus was sent to Ravenclaw. Zachary went to Ravenclaw. Lucy went to Hufflepuff.

The Sorting Hat’s song was generally about conquering evil and being true to one’s self, to which the teachers agreed that nothing could be more applicable.

The three students were told that if they had any issues with blood purity, they could talk to Hermione Granger or Ginny Weasley about their problems.

But even when they did, the three of them felt terrible about those terrible days.

Marcus was blossoming into a talented young wizard, with high marks and a keen interest in Charms. Lucy still kept in contact with Monica, although she used Muggle post. Likewise, Zachary spoke to Jessie and Finn, who were also firm friends with each other.

But Marcus only made it to his third year. He said that he kept having nightmares every night, of being lost and his of his parents being tortured for information. Of Monica’s words ringing in his head.

Of what he heard had happened to Bianca and how that had almost been him.

He apologised to his teachers, but said that he couldn’t stay here anymore.

Lucy left the next year. She said that many pureblood students hadn’t been picking her as such, but left her out of games and activities. Other students, from pureblood and half-blood background, were too afraid to hang out with her in case of retaliation.

McGonagall had had strict words with her year about it, but Lucy didn’t want to be a bother. She left after her exams had finished. She didn’t know if she was going back to the Muggle world. But given her age it was more likely than not.

Only Zachary made it to graduation. He collected his certificate and started looking for a job in Diagon Alley instantly.

But the fact that these eleven students had had to suffer when they could have just as easily have been left alone and ignored by wizardkind was damage enough.

Kelly, Monica, Jessie, Finn, John, Flora and Ava all wanted to know more about the mysterious world that lay at their doorstep, the one they had been invited to be a part of.

A world, as it turned out, that they could never belong. An endless reminder of what had happened to them and showed how cruel both worlds could be.

Because prejudice comes in all shapes and forms, just as humans come in all shapes and forms. While prejudice is something that, despite all of our best efforts, can never go away, and will never go away, it should be kept inside rather than used to let others suffer.


End file.
